


Love Spell

by CallistoNicol



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies)
Genre: F/M, Loki being unabashedly romantic, Love Spell, haunted, indulge, sifkiweek2020
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-16
Updated: 2020-08-17
Packaged: 2021-03-06 03:54:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 17,300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25937008
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CallistoNicol/pseuds/CallistoNicol
Summary: After a decade of hurting over Haldor, Sif casts a runic anti-love spell to help her move on.Minor problem: she failed magical runes, and accidentally casts a love spell on Loki.
Relationships: Loki/Sif (Marvel), sifki
Comments: 52
Kudos: 85





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Sifki Week! Chapter 1 is my entry for Indulge.

It was ridiculous, really, how much Sif’s heart ached. Lorelei’s treachery with Haldor had been over for a decade, yet the heartbreak still clung to her like a second skin. After yet another sleepless night ruminating over what she would say to the couple if Haldor yet lived and Lorelei was allowed out of the dungeons, Sif had had enough. She had more important things to do with her life.

The moment the sun peeked over the horizon, Sif was at the library, rifling through books on runic magic in order to craft an anti-love spell. Anything to stop feeling morose and put an end to her melancholy feelings. 

It had been some time—nearly a century—since she last practiced magic, but it couldn’t be that difficult, given how many classes had been forced upon her in her youth. Practicing magic was like riding a bilgesnipe—one never forgot how. 

It took three days, but Sif finally had her spell. Copying the runes onto fresh parchment, Sif traced them with her finger as she read them aloud. Upon completion of the final rune, her skin erupted into gooseflesh, and for a fleeting moment magic hung in the air, thicker than the summer humidity. In the blink of an eye the feeling dissipated and her skin returned to normal. Had the spell worked? Sif couldn’t tell, but not all spells worked immediately. Perhaps this was a sleeper spell, and she wouldn’t notice until the following morning. Or perhaps it was subtle, and she wouldn’t notice for weeks or months, until she remembered one day that she hadn’t thought of Haldor at all. 

Confident the magic was merely delayed or unnoticeable, Sif returned her books to their appropriate shelves, pocketed her spell, and went to the training yards to bash some heads in.

* * *

By the time Sif finished in the yards, it was late and there were few people still in the dining hall. The food selection was small, much of it already consumed. Volstagg would be disappointed if he were with her, but she didn’t mind. Filling up her plate with the leftovers, Sif sat at an empty table and tucked in. 

Halfway through her meal, Loki entered, locking eyes with her. She smiled in greeting as he strode to her table, determination tugging the corner of his lips down. 

“Loki,” she said in greeting as he swooped in to sit beside her. He did not return her greeting, instead taking hold of her hand and bringing it to his lips. “What are you—” she started, but cut off with a strangled noise as he continued kissing up her arm, his warm lips shooting tingles of pleasure through her. 

Sif yanked her arm back. “What are you doing?” she hissed. “We are in public!”

He wrestled her arm back and continued his ministrations. Between kisses, he said, “But it would be acceptable in private? Very well, I accept,” and lifted his hand to perform some magic. 

With her free hand, Sif smacked it down. “Are you possessed?” she demanded, struggling to push him off of her. “Restrain yourself!”

He met her eyes, the heat in his gaze melting her core. It had been a long time since someone looked at her thus. “This is me restraining myself,” he murmured. “You have bewitched me, body and soul, my lady.” He paused his kisses long enough to transform his adoration into a glare. “What have you done to me, my dearest, darling, dazzling Sif?” 

The pleasant sensation in Sif’s stomach turned to lead. “Oh, no,” she said, standing abruptly. It did little to deter Loki as he stood with her. “Oh, no, no, no, no, no.” 

“Oh, _yes,_ ” Loki said, trailing after her as she rushed out of the dining hall, heedless of the stares they had attracted. Loki’s longer legs meant he had no trouble keeping up with her. Her determined movement made his continued kisses impossible, so he put his mouth to other uses and started reciting poetry. “Drink to me only with thine eyes, and I will pledge with mine,” he started, voice sultry.

“Cease this madness at once,” Sif said, “for I doubt you mean it.”

“Or leave a kiss but in the cup, and I’ll not look for wine,” he continued, heedless of her words.

He continued prattling words of love, so Sif ignored him as she hurried to her room, wishing just once that she could outrun the lanky prince.

When they paused in front of her door so she could unlock it, Loki gave her a predatory gaze. “Wonderful suggestion, my dear,” he purred.

Sif turned on him, shoving a finger under his nose. “Try anything and I will break your kneecaps,” she said. 

“I do like a challenge,” he said, wrapping her in his embrace once they were through the door. He was surprisingly strong for one so lithe, and it was no easy task for Sif to escape his grasp and move farther into her chamber. “My little huntress enjoys being the prey, does she?” Loki murmured, stalking around her.

Sif ignored him as she knelt to retrieve her clothes soiled from training. Which pocket had she tucked that ridiculous spell in?

With no warning, Loki pounced, sending Sif sprawling. A wrestling match ensued, a pastime Sif usually enjoyed, when her opponent wasn’t trying to kiss her. Now her goal was to avoid Loki’s lips as much as it was to remove his person from her presence. “You’re going to feel ridiculous once you’ve been set to rights,” Sif said, landing a solid blow on his jaw. 

“One could never feel ridiculous when tussling with the enchanting Sif,” he said, barely reacting to her blow.

“LOKI!” Sif barked. It startled him enough for her to get the upper hand. Flipping him on his stomach, Sif yanked both of hands to the small of his back where she tied them in place with the lace from her boot. To keep him from flipping back over she had to straddle his hips, occasionally letting go of the lace to shove his face back into the floor. 

“Like it rough, do we?” 

“Keep your lewd suggestions to yourself,” Sif grunted as she finished her knot. She could see his muscles straining against her bonds, but the lace did not slip. “And keep your mouth shut while I search for my spell.”

To her surprise, Loki said not a word as he ceased straining, his intense eyes following her every move. She turned her back to him to continue rifling through her pockets, but she could feel his gaze between her shoulder blades. “Stop that,” she ordered. 

“Stop what?” he asked, voice husky. 

“Looking at me.”

“But one should appreciate exquisite art when one is graced with its presence.”

She knew Loki had been called Silvertongue for more than one reason, though this was her first time experiencing anything other than lies. She couldn’t help the flush that stole over her face, but she could keep him from seeing it. Wretched creature; he didn’t mean a word of it, and she did not wish him to.

At last she located the missing bit of parchment and pulled it out, tossing aside the garment. Whatever was going on with Loki had to be related to her anti-love spell, for there was no other explanation for his behavior. Reviewing her runes, Sif could not identify where she went wrong. Everything was in place: the verb preceded the object, she’d properly inverted the call to action, and the infinity rune, used to determine the length of the spell, was placed at the end where it belonged.

Fortunately, she had her own personal sorcerer awaiting her pleasure. Moving back to Loki, she thrust the parchment under his nose. “Locate the error,” she commanded.

“As my lady wishes,” he murmured, looking at her through his dark lashes. She snapped her fingers and pointed at the paper, and at last he shifted his eyes to read her spell. Lifting his head off the floor, he pulled back, his lip curling in a sneer. “Who wrote this amateur abomination?”

“Abomination? That’s a bit harsh!” she cried. “I took Ancient Runes same as you.”

“As I recall, did you not fail it? Twice?” Loki asked. 

So she may have forgotten to take that minor fact into consideration. “Then tell me, o great one, where I went wrong.”

He gestured to the love rune with his nose. “The dyadic nature of runes requires meanings to be specified, which you failed to do.”

Dyadic? It meant two, but Sif could not connect the meaning with her runes. “Speak plainly,” she said.

“It doesn’t get any plainer than that,” Loki said. Good to know despite her spell addling his brains, it did nothing to affect his snooty sense of superiority. “There are three separate runes here with double meanings, all of which need a specificator to indicate which meaning you are going for. Did you mean love, or hate? Did you mean the object of your affection, or are you the object of affection? Is it supposed to last forever, or meant to end before it begins? You haven’t even specified what you are spellcasting for! A child could pen a more accurate spell than this.”

Sif yanked her bit of parchment away from him, scowling at his judgmental eyes. “At least you seem to have calmed down,” she said, hiding how insulted she felt.

“I believe your proximity is to blame for that,” he said. “I’ve been feeling increasingly anxious all day, my rising attraction in direct correlation to how anxious I am. Sitting next to you in the dining hall offered the first bit of relief I’d felt all afternoon. Chasing you down the hall only stoked my desperation for you, but having you sit next to me is soothing my rattled nerves.” He bit his lip, smouldering at her. “Imagine how docile I’ll be if you kiss me.”

Sif shoved his shoulder, scooting several inches away. “I’ll not take advantage of a bewitched swain,” she said. 

“I give you full permission to take advantage of me.”

“Loki!”

“Sif,” he countered, his gaze becoming more heated.

This was ridiculous. In his right mind, Loki would never look at her twice, let alone proposition her. She needed to correct her spell as soon as possible. Looking down at the runes, Sif couldn’t begin to decipher which ones she’d incorrectly marked, let alone fathom how to undo what she had done. Considering it had taken her three days to draft the spell, she did not doubt it would take just as long, if not longer, to undo her work. With a sigh, she reached over and placed her hand on Loki’s shoulder. It took a moment, but he stopped smouldering. She hadn’t noticed how strained his muscles were until they relaxed under her touch. 

Loki sighed, a long, wistful sound. “I do believe physical contact is required to keep me in check,” he told her, not sounding the least bit sorry about it.

“The gossip this is going to start,” Sif said.

“Already started,” Loki said. “My display in the dining hall definitely did not go unnoticed.”

Sif sighed. This was the exact _opposite_ of what she wanted. That would teach her to mess with magic outside her skill level. 

Standing up, Sif hauled Loki to his feet. He was surprisingly graceful for a man without access to his hands. She debated whether or not she should untie him to go to their next destination, but decided to leave him secured. Oh, the gossip _that_ was going to start, but it was better than Loki having his hands all over her, no matter how nice it was to be touched.

Leaning in, Loki murmured in her ear, “I hear being tied up can be... _very_ satisfying.”

Flushing all over, Sif grabbed Loki by the shoulders and frog-marched him out of her rooms. 

The situation was thus: Loki was hornier than Fandral in a house of harlots, and the only way to keep him in check was to maintain physical contact. Sif, already annoyed at the complete failure of her spell, had a growing headache and was not interested in devoting time to figuring out how to keep Loki away from her and maintain the peace of the palace. Therefore it followed that Loki would spend the night in her bed to prevent any tantrums he might otherwise throw, but Sif was not going to allow him free reign of her person. In desperate need of shackles, she dismissed the idea of using the magic-dampening cuffs from the dungeons, for while they would be very effective, they were also uncomfortable, and she would not needlessly force Loki to suffer when it was her own incompetency that landed him in this state. 

Which meant she needed bonds that were effective but comfortable, and for that, she needed…

“Fandral?” Loki growled as they knocked on the man’s door. Loki glowered fiercely at Sif, a nice change from trying to nibble her ear. “I do not share,” he said darkly.

Sif rolled her eyes. “You don’t have anything _to_ share,” she reminded him as the door opened.

“Sif! Loki! What a pleasant surprise,” Fandral greeted them. He immediately caught sight of Loki’s bonds, and his eyebrows went up. “Well, this is an interesting development,” he said.

Sif rolled her eyes. “Give over, Fandral. I need to borrow a pair of comfortable manacles.”

Fandral’s usual rakish grin was replaced by a mischievous gleam. “Oh, I bet you do,” he purred. Loki growled, attempting to insert himself between Sif and Fandral, which only increased Fandral’s knowing grin. “Anything at all for my favourite couple. Wait right here,” and he disappeared into his room.

“We’re not a couple!” Sif called after her friend, knowing it was useless.

“Damn right we are,” Loki said, doing his best to pull Sif close without proper access to his hands. 

Her friends were going to mock her for ages over this. 

Fandral returned with a box, which he flourished open to reveal a rainbow of options. “Which colour goes best with the second prince?” he asked speculatively.

“Run me through with a sword now,” Sif muttered while Loki eyed the selection and asked for green.

Going for scarlet just to annoy Loki, Sif leaned in close. “Tell no one of this,” she threatened. Fandral just grinned.

“Sif, my dear, I need not say a word and it will spread through all of Asgard by morning.” Knowing he was right, she sent Fandral a rude gesture and grabbed Loki’s arm to drag him back to her rooms. “Take good care of her, Loki,” Fandral called as they walked off. “You may be a prince of the Realm, but she is my friend first.”

Fandral’s concern might have been touching if she wasn’t so annoyed at the situation in general. Indeed, tales of the tryst of Silvertongue and the Shieldmaiden would spread across Asgard by morning, and no protestation on her part would ever convince the populace there was nothing to her association with Loki. Sif sighed; she would forever be branded as one of his conquests, and there was nothing to do about it.

“Brilliant idea, parading me around for the whole of Asgard to see,” Loki said. “Now there will be no doubt I belong to you.”

He was sincere, and it was that more than anything that led to her quickly jabbing him in the stomach with her elbow.

* * *

Sif awoke in the circle of Loki’s arms, so she woke him with a sharp kick to the shin. “ _How_?” she demanded. “You’re shackled! Any attempt to embrace me should have jostled me awake!”

He kissed the shell of her ear. “Never doubt the many skills of Loki Silvertongue,” he murmured, kissing a trail across her cheek. A scuffle ensued which resulted in her escape, but not before he managed to kiss half of her mouth. Loki lay sprawled out on her bed—as much as a man shackled with red velvet cuffs could sprawl—looking thoroughly pleased. 

“Library. Now!” she barked.

His lazy smile slowly increased. “In a Realm full of warriors, the library is often... vacant. An excellent location to meet a lover.”

“I am not meeting a lover,” Sif said, ticking off a finger, “You are not my lover,” she ticked off a second finger, “and we will be creating magic—”

“Finally, darling, you see the light—”

Giving up on playing nice, Sif hit Loki in the head so hard he passed out. “I hate you,” she growled at his unconscious form. She dressed quickly, then grabbed him by the collar and unceremoniously dragged him to the library. It did nothing to dispel the growing rumours of their relationship, for every individual they passed had knowing eyes and quirked lips. Sif bared her teeth for all to see.

In the library she unceremoniously kicked him awake, and his smouldering eyes made her wish they lived in a culture that did not consider violence a form of affection. Dropping a tome ( _Magical Runes and Where to Find Them_ ) on his chest, she took satisfaction in his wheeze as she said, “Start reading.”

He held up his shackled hands, looking piteously at her. “This will make research rather difficult,” he said.

Perhaps, but it would also make amorous advances difficult. “Make do,” she said, and started thumbing through her own tome ( _How to Rune Friends and Influence People)_.

Loki very obediently skimmed his book with the assistance of magic, declared it useless, and scooted closer to her so he could place a kiss on her calf. “Beloved,” he whispered, nuzzling her leg, “with body divine, our hearts meant to beat as one.”

“Hold your tongue,” Sif said, more annoyed with his interruption than his words. “I’m working.”

“And I am worshipping my goddess. Pray do not interrupt me, Sif.”

She almost wanted to laugh, but couldn’t quite make the effort. How was she to ever reverse the effects of her spell if Loki would not give her a moment’s peace?

Actually, that was a rather brilliant idea. Squatting down and taking Loki’s chin in hand, she directed his gaze to hers. “You want me to be happy, don’t you?” she asked. 

“I want to consume you body and soul, make you mine, and be one with you.”

For a moment Sif’s heart beat with something other than sorrow. Haldor had never said anything half so beautiful, nor meant it half as much. If Loki were in his right mind and meant his words in the slightest, she might be persuaded to let him. But he wasn’t, so the moment passed. “Then accept my bargain: I will hook my leg around yours while we work, and if you study for an hour without interrupting me or making mischief of any kind, I will kiss you.”

“I find your argument compelling,” Loki said. “Release me from these restraints, and we have a deal.”

Sif took his hands in hers, but before she opened the shackles said, “If you touch me at all during the hour, you forfeit your right to a kiss.”

She expected Loki’s love-addled brain to balk at her term, but his lips curled in sly pleasure. “A game,” he murmured. “My dear, you speak my language. Counter: if I behave for two hours, I may kiss you until your toes curl.”

Sif did not believe such a thing was possible, but was not about to grant Loki free access to her lips. “Let’s see if you can even make the hour before we start increasing the reward,” she said.

“Something to look forward to,” he said, squeezing her hands. He sounded as if he meant it.

It was all the spell, of course, but it reminded Sif once again of all she had lost when Haldor left her for Lorelei. The days of blissful happiness over the smallest trifle were long gone, yet in that moment she yearned to feel the excitement of new love and joy in the little things once more.

Curse her inability to cast a proper rune spell. This was precisely the sort of nonsense she wished to avoid. Hurriedly releasing Loki’s bonds, she turned to her book and buried herself in its words, shoving Loki and his spell-induced romance from her mind. 

He hooked his foot around hers, reminding her of the ridiculous agreement they’d made. She’d only agreed to touch him in the first place so the spell wouldn’t act up and force him into doing something more drastic; she bitterly resented that physical touch was necessary at all. When the spell was reversed, she was going to drag his sorry carcass to the training field and beat him half to death for daring to make her feel anything. 

* * *

It took Loki nearly six hours to earn a kiss, as he kept absentmindedly reaching over to stroke Sif’s arm or place a hand on her thigh. Every time he failed to achieve the kiss, she smirked in the face of his disappointment. He ordered a lunch of grapes and cheese and tried to induce her to let him feed her, which she steadfastly ignored in the face of studying. She wouldn’t have eaten anything at all, except she’d already skipped breakfast and wasn’t certain she could make it to supper without partaking. Refusing to look at Loki, she reached for a bunch of grapes, only to have her hand intercepted and gently turned over. Loki stroked her palm once with a finger before placing a grape and a bit of cheese in the center. She didn’t say anything, swallowing the offering while continuing to read her current tome, _Lord of the Runes_.

Loki continued feeding her—if not in the manner he’d initially suggested—and did not complain when he did not earn a kiss at the end of the hour, though he hardly seemed to mind as he returned to perusing _A Tale of Two Runes_.

He must have read it before, for he flipped to three different passages about the nature of dyadic runes and made Sif read them, a beginner’s guide in understanding just where she went wrong, though it took a corresponding chapter in _The Call of the Rune_ to truly grasp how badly she’d botched her spell. Loki was so pleased to have assisted her in her research that he managed to keep his hands to himself, so on top of this negative discovery, Sif had to offer up the kiss she’d previously promised. 

She intended to give no more than a peck, but should have expected Loki to go in for more. Before she could hastily retreat, his hands came up to cradle her face as his lips gently caressed hers, and for a moment Sif remembered how much she liked being kissed and let him get away with it. He pulled back first, a brilliant smile blooming across his face. “Are you certain I can’t have two?” he asked impishly, and Sif remembered this was all because of a spell.

Scowling at him, she said, “See if you can even earn a second,” and jumped back into reading _Rune and Punishment_ , an apt description of how she currently felt. 

To her dismay, Loki was a perfect gentlemen the remainder of the day, claiming another three (searing, knee-weakening) kisses before grumbling stomachs declared a need for food. With each progressive kiss, Sif was having a harder time not giving into his demands and devoting the rest of the day to such a pleasant activity. Silvertongue, indeed! She did not want to know where he acquired such skills, but she sent a silent thank you to the universe.

“What should I order us for dinner?” Loki asked, closing his book seductively. How he managed to make such a mundane task seductive, Sif did not know, but the thud of the book reminded her they were here researching the antidote to a love spell Loki would no doubt be angry about once he returned to his own mind. She needed to go somewhere public before she gave into temptation, which she would bitterly regret. 

Standing up, Sif took his hand before he did something stupid. “Let’s eat with the others,” she said, pulling him toward the library exit. 

“And publicly announce our relationship? Very well, I accept.” She attempted to retrieve her hand, but he held tight as he lifted it to his lips, placing a lingering kiss on the back of her hand. 

“There is nothing to announce,” she reminded him, at last successfully yanking her hand away him from. 

“Mm, you are right,” Loki said, retrieving her hand and lacing their fingers together. “Our friends’ power of observation will do all the announcing for us.”

She rolled her eyes. “Are you always like this, or is your behavior a spell special?”

“I am always like this for you,” he said, leaning in for a kiss. Sif brought up her other hand to block him, so he nipped at her fingers. She pulled back with a yelp.

“Stop it,” she hissed. “You’re going to give the entire palace the wrong idea.”

“I do so love the wrong idea,” he replied, smiling at her. “Perhaps we should skip dinner, and give each other the wrong idea in your room?”

Pulling free, Sif ran to the dining hall.

“The game is on, my lady,” Loki growled as he started chasing her. 

Sif ran faster. 

She was more of a distance runner than a sprinter, while Loki was the better sprinter. Keeping this in mind, just as he caught up with her and leapt to tackle her to the ground, Sif grabbed a wall sconce and pivoted down a secondary hall while Loki fell in a disgraced pile, hopefully on his face. It was a pity she had to miss the spectacle, but better that than... _that_. 

She shook her head; how had she managed to screw up an anti-love spell so badly that not only did Loki fancy himself in love, he fancied himself in lust? Couldn’t he have just spouted poetry and lavished her with flowers? Well, he had made a go at poetry, so maybe just flowers. That would have been easy enough to handle. 

Taking the long route to the dining hall, Sif made sure Loki was nowhere in sight when she crossed the threshold. At least she could enter with dignity, though she did not doubt it would be short lived. And indeed, inside she found Loki supping with the Warriors Three, though he caught sight of her almost immediately and gave her an adoring look, marred only by the beginnings of a black eye. Yes, his behaviour was definitely a byproduct of the spell, for on his own Loki would have been grievously offended that she dared mar his beautiful face. 

“Sif!” Volstagg boomed, waving her over. “Your lover has been regaling us with your virtues!”

“Frankly, I had no idea you had so many,” Fandral said, raising his voice to match Volstagg’s. Sif winced. Not that there was any chance her escapades with Loki would go unnoticed, but did her friends really need to bring such loud attention to it?

Joining them, Sif tried to slip in beside Hogun and _not_ beside Loki, but before she could sit, Loki grabbed her wrist and yanked her to his other side, shooting a jealous glare at Hogun. The act threw her off balance, and Sif nearly landed in Loki’s lap amidst Fandral’s peals of laughter. Picking up a handful of mashed vegetables, she lobbed them at him, his open mouth a perfect target. She smirked as he choked. 

“Now, now, Sif, no need to waste perfectly good food,” Volstagg chided as he whacked Fandral’s back. 

“Interesting tactic,” Hogun said. “You successfully managed to shut him up.”

“If only I could always be guaranteed such an outcome,” Sif said, pushing Loki off her as he attempted to wrap her in an embrace. Throwing a finger in his face, Sif said sternly, “We are not demonstrative.”

“In public,” Loki amended, ceasing his attempts in favour of dropping a hand to her thigh. Sif gritted her teeth, but decided it was better than putting on a show. 

“Tell me, when did this happen?” Volstagg asked, gesturing to Loki and Sif. “Most unexpected, it is.”

“Been a long time coming, if you ask me,” Fandral said, having recovered from choking. “Been mooning after each other a long time. Quite sickening, really.”

“Mooning?” Sif said, aghast, wondering what weed he’d been smoking.

“Centuries in the making, really,” Loki said conversationally, spearing a bit of wild boar with his knife. “She finally saw my charms.”

“Cast a charm, is more like it,” Sif grumbled. 

“We missed you in the yards this morning,” Hogun diverted the conversation. Bless him. 

“Apologies,” Loki said smoothly, and promptly ruined Hogun’s diversion. “She had me all tied up.”

This time Sif stuffed mashed vegetables in Loki’s mouth, relishing his pale self turning scarlet as he choked. Fandral laughed heartily. “It’s amazing what a bit of red velvet can do, isn’t it?” Fandral said cheekily, sending a wink her way. 

“Ignore these buffoons,” Sif said to Hogun. “I’m in the middle of a research project I cannot entrust to another. It may be days yet before I return.”

Hogun looked disappointed. “There were upstarts insulting your reputation,” he told her. “Defending your honour isn’t nearly as satisfying as watching you do it.”

“Nor is it as enriching,” Fandral said. “No one would bet against Hogun, and that took the fun out of it. Do return tomorrow, Sif; my coffers are dwindling.”

“It’s been one day,” she said, affecting annoyance but secretly pleased that her friends missed watching her trounce the seemingly endless idiots who did not take seriously her prowess as a warrior. 

“We’ll be there tomorrow,” Loki said, having swallowed the food Sif unceremoniously stuffed in his gullet. “I do so like watching her move.”

Fandral and Volstagg wolf whistled while Sif stomped on Loki’s foot. He merely grinned at her, the insufferable prat. 

Hogun gestured to the two of them. “Does Thor know?” he asked.

“There’s nothing to know,” Sif said at the same time Loki said, “And ruin a good thing? I think not.”

“Don’t tell him,” Fandral said, “and let’s bet on when he notices. I say one week.”

“Two months,” Hogun said, handing over a handful of gold.

“He never notices,” Volstagg said, digging around in his pockets, “and has to be explicitly told twice—no, make that thrice—before he believes.”

“He already knows and is avoiding us to hide his jealousy,” Loki said, fishing gold out of his pocket to add to Fandral’s pot. 

Sif shook her head. “Irrelevant, because it’s not real.”

“I assure you, the gold is very real,” Fandral said, making it all disappear. “I do love an honest day’s work. Now, how many peas can we land in the Minister of Agriculture’s hood before he notices?”

* * *

To ensure Loki did not wrap her in an embrace again, Sif made up a pallet on the floor and banished him to it. He went willingly enough, until he realized he could not touch her, then sat on the floor pouting with the most adorable puppy eyes Sif had ever seen. With a heavy sigh she rolled onto her stomach and threw her arm over the side. Immediately Loki clasped her hand and promptly fell asleep.

Sif took her time joining him, taking time to ponder over the events of the day. Little progress had been made on the actual spell, but Sif’s knowledge of ancient runes had increased many fold and she had a better handle on their dyadic nature. Hopefully another day or two of studying and she’d be able to reverse the spell, returning Loki to his usual cheery self—assuming she could keep him focused, of course, which was proving increasingly doable so long as he had proper motivation.

She realized her free hand was tracing her lips as she remembered the feel of his mouth on hers. Jerking her hand back, she shoved it under her stomach to prevent any further embarrassing motions. Thank goodness Loki was asleep, for he would never let her live it down, and any line of questioning would surely result in him realizing she did not find his kisses as abhorrent as she pretended. 

Oh, how she regretted implementing that rule. Proposed as a means of controlling Loki, it had not occurred to her that she might find it enjoyable. But it did no good to dwell on; once the spell was reversed, she would no longer be the recipient of Loki’s attention, so getting attached to it now would only be a problem for her later. 

Forcefully shoving it from her mind, Sif fell asleep.

When she awoke, Sif was on the floor, cuddled next to Loki. Their hands were no longer attached, their limbs instead fully entwined. How had this happened?

Shoving back from Loki, Sif stomped about her room, muttering about it being his fault. From his nest on the floor, Loki watched her with heavy eyes and a languid smile that certainly did not make her blood boil in a pleasant way. “Anger becomes you,” Loki said, voice heavy with sleep. 

“And spears sticking out of your spleen become you,” she snapped in response. “Get up! We’re going to the training yards!” 

They had to stop by Loki’s rooms to acquire clothing for him, where they stumbled upon servants doing the daily cleaning. The servants bowed obsequiously, but the moment they left the prince’s chambers Sif could hear the gossip start as the girls discussed the meaning behind Sif’s hand clasped in Loki’s, arriving together early in the morning. 

Sif ground her teeth. She did not envy herself the headache this would cause when the spell was reversed. Considering she never possessed Loki’s affections, she was beginning to wonder if any would even believe they’d parted ways. 

Dressed in leggings and tunic of green and black, Loki followed her to the training yards. He didn’t take her proffered hand, opting instead to trail behind like a puppy, and it took three hallways and a staircase before Sif realized he took that position to enjoy the view. With a growl she switched him places; he sent her a saucy wink and swayed his hips with a feminine grace he did not usually have. 

Sif had never been so grateful to arrive at her destination. It was early still, meaning the Einherjar had not yet begun their daily training. Men wishing to join the palace guard trained earlier than the Einherjar, and it was these hopefuls who currently populated the training yards.

The moment her toe left the stone of the palace and touched the sand of the training yard, Sif jumped on a new recruit and bullied him into a wrestling match, which she naturally won. “Beware sneak attacks,” she told the bewildered youth as she launched immediately into a second match with yet another unwary man. She made it through four opponents before the men caught on to her tactics and started putting up a good fight. Through all the tussling and tumbling she lost track of Loki, counting her lucky stars at her brief reprieve, and enjoyed the cheers and hoots of the men as they egged their friends on and shamed them for losing to a woman. 

At least, she enjoyed the general hubbub until she started distinguishing Loki’s voice from the rest of the crowd. 

“Rip his heart out, darling!”

“Eat him for breakfast, my love!”

“That’s my heart, and she can rip the limbs off of any substandard warrior here. That would be all of you.”

“Make certain he never rises from the ashes of his humiliation!”

“Do you see how limber she is? It transfers elsewhere.”

“Yes, my lady! You can do it!”

“Queen of my heart, you are queen of the battlefield!”

It fueled her rage, and she was far rougher with her opponents than was wise. 

Of course, Loki’s cheers weren’t quite so bad as the commentary from her opponents. “Can’t find your footing without your little prince to guide you, eh?” One man said right before she socked him in the jaw.

“I knew being Shieldmaiden came with perks,” said another. She swiped his feet out from under him, taking satisfaction as she heard a bone crack. 

“He’s not good enough to master the sword or you,” another growled, and for the first time in her life Sif broke a nose on behalf of Loki.

“He may be ridiculous right now,” she told the snarling face, “but that is hardly his own fault. Face him on the battlefield, and he would defeat you handily, for you aren’t worth the worm you squashed when I felled you.”

Blood was common in the training yards—they were warriors, after all—but it was generally considered bad form to aim for the face during practice. For Sif to intentionally break a man’s nose signalled the end of her wrestling opponents. Her fury was not spent, having grown in strength with the ridiculous jabs of these weaklings. Stomping to the weapons shelves lining one side of the yards, Sif selected dueling knives, then stomped back to Loki. “Dance with me,” she said, offering him one of the knives. “Help me show these children that war can be beautiful as well as deadly.”

Accepting the knife, Loki balanced it on one finger as he stood. “If I must,” he said, suddenly tossing the knife up, grabbing it by the hilt, and flinging it to his right. The idiot who insinuated she only achieved her place by sleeping with the prince found his braid pinned to a post, his eyes wide as a droplet of blood formed on his ear. “Missed,” Loki said cheerfully, though Sif knew he had not missed at all. A tense murmur swept through the onlookers while Loki produced his own knife with blue hilt and uneven blade. It was far superior in quality to the training weapon Sif held, but she did not mind an unfair fight. 

Loki attacked without warning and Sif countered, bringing up her blade to deflect his. He drew her into him, taking the lead as he led her in a circle, slashing so quickly it was hard to track his movements. His blade struck true time and time again, just enough to sting but never draw blood. He was a master at this. Sif, not nearly as skilled, landed one blow for every seven of his, though her strikes left tiny trails of blood in their wake.

He led her in a series of complicated steps mimicking a dance they had learned as children, allowing Sif to anticipate Loki’s next move. As he moved right, she entered his instep, looping her left arm around his neck as she brought her right hand up to place the blade at his throat. Without missing a beat, he swept her legs out from under her and they landed in a pile, her blade still at his throat, but his larger body encasing hers so she couldn’t move. “I do believe you are at my mercy,” he said softly.

“But my blade is at your throat,” she replied. 

“Press harder.”

To her dismay, Sif realized her hand was angled such that she could not move it forward so much as a hair. Loki smirked. “And I have you exactly where I want you, without spilling a drop of your precious blood.”

Despite her inability to move, the tip of her knife had penetrated his skin in their fall, and one perfect drop of blood fell onto Sif’s cheek. “Gross,” she said, remembering the many streaks of blood lining his arms. “And you need a bath.”

“Join me,” he murmured. 

“No thank you,” she said. “Now get off me.”

“You heard the lady,” Fandral said, grabbing Loki by the shoulders and pulling him up. When had he arrived? “And perhaps you two ought to retire to your rooms. The yards are no place for this sort of behaviour.” He winked. “Unless you’re into that sort of thing.”

Hogun offered Sif a hand up and a towel to wipe her forehead, which she gratefully accepted. “You’re here a bit early,” Sif told her friends.

“Are we?” Fandral said, gesturing to the limping men she’d bested in wrestling. “That took longer than you thought, though I do wish you’d given me a heads up. Imagine the the winnings I could have scored!” 

Loki, jealous frown in place, moved between Sif and Hogun, placing his hand on her shoulder. Sif shrugged it off, so he wrapped an arm around her waist. “Move it or I will stab you,” she said, brandishing the knife she held. 

“Feel free to mark me, though a love bite would be more effective.”

And willingly leave a mark the whole world could see? In his right mind, Loki would never make such an offer. She eyed his black eye, already fading. It would be gone by tomorrow. She couldn’t believe he hadn’t yelled at her for that yet. She frowned; in addition to this love spell intruding on his life, it was robbing Loki of many of the attributes that made him him.

She flicked the knife at Hogun, who caught it handily. “Put that way for me, will you?” she asked, twirling out of Loki’s possessive arm. “I have work to do,” and she headed inside for a quick rinse and then back to the library, Loki trailing along behind her. He wouldn’t return to his rooms for a separate bath, so she forced him into hers, then while the water was running, ran to his rooms to make quick use of his bath. By the time she returned to her rooms, she found him in pants, attempting to put on a tunic and his boots at the same time. “One at a time,” she ordered, and he dropped the boots.

“Doing it simultaneously allows me to find you that much sooner,” Loki said, swooping in for a kiss after tying his tunic. Sif, unprepared for the attack, did not prevent it, though she immediately moved out of reach. Loki pouted as he reached for his boots. “You would deny me my one joy?”

“Your one joy is causing mischief, closely followed by spellcasting,” she said, leading him out.

“All secondary to you, my treasure,” he said, capturing her hand for a kiss to her fingers. She yanked her hand back with a glower.

“Kindly keep your hands to yourself.”

“But I much prefer keeping myself to _your_ self.”

With a growled epithet, Sif flung her hand at him, which he enclosed in his own and started swinging between them, a large smile on his face. It was oddly out of place on features usually possessing careful neutrality or a scowl. Sif looked away before she decided it was pleasant to behold.

“Do good boys get kisses?” Loki asked with accompanying puppy eyes when they were seated in the library. 

“How about good boys don’t get knives inserted in their throats,” Sif said, flipping open _Brave New Rune_. 

Loki flipped it closed again. “Not enough incentive to behave,” he said, jutting out his lower lip, which did not look kissable. 

“Can’t you just behave because it will make me happy?”

He paused, thinking it through, before saying, “Tempting, but no, because kissing me does make you happy.”

She wished she could deny it, but Sif shivered as she remembered kissing him yesterday. She really wished she could kiss him into breaking the spell—it would be much simpler and more enjoyable. 

But wishes were pointless, and she had a spell to reverse. “Read,” she commanded. 

“Incentive,” he replied, voice husky. He moved closer so their noses were almost touching. “Give me but one bit of hope,” he whispered, “and I will do your bidding.”

“Loki—”

He reached forward, twining a lock of her hair around his forefinger. “You consume me, body and soul. Would you but grant me so, I would spend the remainder of my days falling into the depths of your eyes, cherishing you, treasuring you, loving you.”

“All right, Silvertongue, enough of that,” she said, annoyed, and pushed his hand away. “Keep your pretty platitudes to yourself and do something useful.”

“This is useful,” he said, burying his other hand in her hair. “There is no greater use than worshiping you.”

“You truly wish to worship me?” she whispered, moving so there was only a sliver of air between their lips.

“With every fiber of my soul, for the remainder of my days,” he whispered back. 

Reaching up, Sif buried her hand in his hair. “Then practice my religion of reading tomes on runes,” she said, and shoved his head down on top of the book. 

“You wound me, my love,” Loki said, rubbing his head. 

“Just read.”

“Very well,” Loki said. In one smooth move he looped his arm around Sif’s waist and transferred her to his lap, where he wrapped his arms around her and opened the book. “Let’s read together,” he said, nuzzling her shoulder.

She was tempted to pick a fight simply to make a point, but a moment’s reflection told her this was the best she’d get out of him without promising a kiss. And if he was comfortable to sit on, that was beside the point. “Very well,” she parroted his words. To her surprise, he started reading out loud, the words rich in his smooth voice. She relaxed, leaning against his chest, and focused on the text. Had Loki read her texts to her in her youth, Sif may have put forth effort into learning magic. 

They skimmed through the relevant chapters, then moved on to _Rune Expectations_. Loki summoned the noon meal, and they worked while they ate—Sif’s idea, so Loki wouldn’t offer to feed her. In the early afternoon, Sif pulled out her spell, and Loki murmured explanations in her ear as they made adjustments, writing the new spell on the back of the parchment. Loki’s voice sent thrills down her spine that were difficult to conceal, though he did not seem to mind. She minded, but could do little about it without sparking a fight, which would halt productivity.

They ran into a problem countering the constant need for physical affection, so Loki pulled out _The Runes of Wrath_ and continued reading. When that didn’t offer any solutions, they moved on to _Vanity Rune_ , which was promising but very, very dense. Even with Loki’s liquid voice giving the words life, Sif very quickly lost focus, thoughts drifting. She jolted back to awareness when Loki poked her in the side. “Are you even listening?”

“Nope,” Sif said. “Tomes like this are why I didn’t pay attention in class.”

Loki tsked lightly. “This is why you so badly butchered your first spell.”

She curled her lip at him, then closed the book. “I think we’re done for the day. My brain is swimming, and I’d rather not ruin my second attempt at rune magic.”

Wrapping his arms around her in a firm embrace, Loki said, “With me at the helm, the spell cannot be anything but perfect.”

At least he was useful for one thing. 

Prying his arms off her stomach, Sif slipped out of his grasp. She immediately missed his warmth, minimal though it had been, and frowned. That was an inappropriate response to Loki holding her. “I think you should sleep in your own chamber this night,” she told him, gathering their books and scrolls into orderly piles. Loki shot her a wounded look. “I mean it,” she told him. 

“Of course you do,” he said morosely, “and I do not approve. You would leave me to languish in the valley of sorrow that will be my thoughts when we could twine together as one?”

“There will be no twining betwixt us, I assure you,” she said.

“There is always the promise of it,” he said. 

“Smooth words will get you nowhere,” Sif told him. “All this affection you’re throwing at me is spell-induced, and I, for one, look forward to witnessing your humiliation when you return to form and come to a realization of what an ape you’ve been.”

“Break the spell, and I will still crave your affections,” Loki told her, smouldering. 

Sif snorted. “Unlikely. I expect you’ll remove yourself from my presence with great haste, and I doubt I’ll see you for months afterward.”

“Would you care to wager on it, my lady?”

Sif briefly considered the merits and ethics of doing so, but decided her scruples did not prevent her from taking advantage of a bewitched Loki when it was not his virtue at stake. “I do. If I am correct, you will fawn after Thor for a fortnight, treating him much as you have treated me these past two days.”

“If I win, I may kiss you to my heart’s content,” he replied. 

Loki must be confident of success to not throw a fit about fawning over Thor. Sif grinned maliciously. She would very much enjoy watching the younger prince worship at his brother’s feet. She extended her hand to shake over the deal. Loki shook once, then used their clasped hands to pull her close. “I look forward to my prize,” he murmured, ghosting a kiss across her lips. It was unfair how such a small act set her heart racing. Pulling free, she wrinkled her nose at him.

“And I look forward to seeing you kiss Thor’s feet. Perhaps I’ll engage a court historian to document the occasion.”

“A brilliant idea, though a court painter would be more appropriate; a kiss that grand should be savoured for generations to come. Come, my love; let’s sup.”

* * *

In the end, Sif acquiesced and allowed Loki to once again sleep on her floor, though this time she would not give him her hand, instead tossing him a pillow that smelled like her. It seemed to satisfy his magically-induced need to consume her as he wrapped himself around the pillow. It might have been cute, had it not been so disturbing. “I want that pillow back unsullied,” she told him.

“I shall procure you a new one; this treasure will be mine forever.” 

In response she hit him with her second pillow, which proved to be unwise as he absconded with it and refused to return it, leaving Sif without a pillow. She refused to beg for it; sleeping without a pillow would not kill her. She’s slept with rocks for pillows before, so she would survive one night without the comfort. 

She woke her at dawn when someone kissed the nape of her neck. It was a pleasant sensation, one she had sore missed these many years. “Feels nice,” she mumbled to her blankets. The lips on her neck smiled, moving to her jaw. Loki kissing her awake was her new favourite way to open the day.

Loki.

Sif’s eyes flew open as she sat up, dislodging the prince from his ministrations. Horrified, Sif stared at him a moment, trying to dispel the unwanted feelings. She certainly did not want Loki kissing her at all, let alone kissing her awake! “What are you doing?” she demanded, gathering her blankets close.

“Waking you for your morning training,” he said, his smile entirely too self-pleased. It was then that Sif noticed he was dressed already in all but his boots which were still sitting on the stone floor. At least he had the decency not to soil her sheets. 

“I do not need a kissing alarm,” she said, telling her heated cheeks to cool. 

“Need, no, but kissing is much more about _wanting_.”

“You know what? No training today. Let’s head straight to the library.”

His smile morphed into something heated and knowing. “I do prefer being alone with you.”

Why weren’t there more scholars in the library? Sif cursed Asgard for being a society of warriors. Reading was a perfectly acceptable pastime and more people should engage in it, particularly in the library. 

Dressing quickly, Sif made sure to wear as many layers as she could comfortably put on, then wrapped herself in her thickest cloak as a physical barrier. Loki eyed it knowingly, but said nothing as he reached for her hand. Not interested in maintaining prolonged physical contact, Sif pivoted and ran from her rooms toward the library. It took Loki a moment to react, but his longer stride and lack of excess clothing making it easy to catch up. Without breaking stride he swooped in and plucked Sif off her feet, cuddling her in his embrace as he continued toward the library. “You make delightful quarry,” he told her, “but I will always catch you, my sweet.”

“Do set me down,” Sif said when they crossed the library’s threshold. “I have work to be about.”

“Mm, I know,” Loki said, inhaling her scent. “Yesterday was so delightful, I look forward to repeating it.” She pushed his head away from hers and scrambled to escape his hold. He relinquished her willingly, but not before stealing a kiss. “Lead on, my love.”

“I look forward to returning you to your own mind,” Sif said, marching toward their table in the back. “You are a nuisance as you are.”

“A delightful nuisance,” Loki said, twirling midstride. “A cute nuisance.” He batted his lashes at her, and Sif had to admit he was cute. “ _Your_ nuisance,” he finished, lowering his tone so his meaning was unmistakable. Sif pushed him to the other side of the table. 

“Work,” she commanded.

“As my heart wills,” Loki said, bowing over the table before taking a seat. His long legs stretched under the table to trap her foot between his. She considered kicking him, but decided this was preferable to kissing or sitting on his lap. 

It took surprisingly little time to find the necessary adjustments to the physical affection portion of the spell. Sif suspected Loki had stumbled across it yesterday and provoked her into ending their work early in order to procure another night with her. She sighed, but there was nothing to be done about it now. With a flourish and a jot she finished the spell, then sat back to admire their handiwork. It mimicked her original in form, though the dressing was completely different, with several of the runes inverted and three with markers in the corners specifying which of the dyadic natures they desired. 

Now that her miscast spell was almost at an end, Sif could admit that she’d been woefully out of her depth with the original and should have engaged assistance rather than trying unfamiliar magic on her own. Should there be a next time, she would not make the same mistake twice.

Moving around the table, Sif placed the spell in front of Loki. Together they traced the runes as they read the spell aloud, resulting once again in gooseflesh and the feeling of humidity heavy in the air. It lasted only a moment, and the spell was complete. A grin stretching her lips, Sif turned to face Loki to congratulate him on a job well done, but her words faltered and died on her tongue as she noticed the sparkling hues of Loki’s eyes, framed to perfection by his dark lashes. His hair curtained his face on the far side, while the hair nearest her was tucked neatly behind his perfectly pale ear. It looked so soft, so inviting, Sif could not help but reach up and untuck the hair, her fingers gliding over the smooth tresses.

Stars above, had he always been this beautiful?

Without realizing it, she maneuvered herself within his space, pressing herself against him, delighting in the pleasure such meager contact invoked. Her free hand snaked up to grab the base of his skull, giving her the leverage needed to pull herself to his lips. “You are magnificent,” she whispered before sealing her lips to his, desperate to have no barrier between them. 

Loki responded immediately, opening his mouth to deepen their kiss. His arms trailed along her sides, though with so many layers of clothing she could barely feel the sensation. What had she been thinking, dressing so thoroughly? A mere shift would have sufficed, or perhaps nothing at all. Then they would not have needed to leave her rooms.

As their tongues met, Sif shivered, pressing closer still to Loki. She moved her hands to the hem of his tunic, grateful he wore little else, and tugged upward. He immediately moved to assist, shifting so she sat at the edge of the table, knocking their stack of books and scrolls to the floor. There was a bit of confusion around the head as neither was keen on relinquishing the other’s lips, and there was a tangle of hair and laughing into his open mouth—

“Great Odin, you’re ruining my texts!”

Sif and Loki pulled apart, Loki’s tunic still halfway in place, and looked guiltily at the head librarian Ingunn as she stormed towards them. They’d been caught going at it like a pair of youths. Sif bit her lip to keep the laugh in, and saw Loki struggling to do much the same. 

“—absolute disgrace, debauching on sacred old texts of great value and importance, menacing my library with your _fondling_ , making a racket—” 

Ignoring the old woman’s rambling, Sif caught Loki’s eye as he smoothed his tunic down and tilted her head in the general direction of her rooms. His slow smile made her want to forget the librarian and resume their actions here and now, but she maintained enough sense to know that was not the best idea. She offered her hand to Loki, but before he could take it, old Ingunn grabbed them both by their ears and hauled them off. It was surprisingly painful, and an action that had not bee taken against Sif in centuries. 

“Unhand me, you old bat,” Loki said, pulling at her hands, but Ingunn had a surprisingly strong grip for a seemingly frail lady and would not be deterred. Sif quickly gave up resisting, realizing it hurt less if she followed where Ingunn directed. It did not take long to find themselves in front of Frigga’s door, and Sif started laughing. They were being taken to Loki’s mother like two misbehaving school children. 

Ingunn, lacking hands with which to knock, kicked the door with her boot repeatedly until the Allmother opened it, clearly surprised to see what awaited her. Ingunn did not wait for an invitation, pushing past Frigga and throwing Sif and Loki on to the waiting divan. Looking at each other, Sif and Loki scrambled to stifle their laughs as they moved to sit nearly on top of the other, joining a mutual embrace. 

“These younglings were about to make love in the middle of my library, knocking precious texts askew and nearly ripping ancient scrolls. Take them to task, my queen!” Ingunn faced the two deviants, brows drawn in anger, clear disapproval over their antics making her eyes flash. Sif gave her a saucy grin.

“Thank you, Ingunn; I will handle it,” Frigga said gently, guiding the librarian out of her rooms. 

“Suitably punished,” Ingunn said as she passed through the door. “I’ll be back if they aren’t!”

As soon as the door closed behind her, Sif dissolved into giggles, Loki not far behind. “I haven’t been so chastised in ages,” Loki said through his laughter, which only made Sif laugh harder. “We’ve been caught like children.”

“Indeed,” Frigga said, moving to sit across from them in a solitary chaise. “Care to enlighten me?”

“I should think that’s obvious,” Sif said, gazing adoringly at Loki while she stroked his knee. “Ill-timed, perhaps, but inevitable.”

“Perfectly timed,” Loki growled, moving in to kiss Sif again, only to be stopped by a wave of Frigga’s hand that moved them to opposite ends of the divan, separated by a glittering wall of magic. It made Loki look like he was glowing. Sif smiled appreciatively; he ought to carry a glowing wall of magic everywhere he went so all could see him as he truly was.

“Refrain yourself until this is sorted, if you please,” Frigga said. She waved a bit of parchment at them. “Ingunn handed me this.”

“My spell!” Sif cried, delighted, momentarily distracted. “It’s to be a symbol of our love. A relic, even!”

“Spell,” Frigga murmured, examining the parchment. One arched eyebrow moved up. She turned the parchment over, and the second eyebrow joined it. “And which was the original?”

“The side you’re looking at,” Loki said, his eyes straying back to Sif. She did her best to sparkle at him, lovely creature that he was. 

“I was attempting to cast a love avoidance spell,” Sif said, enjoying the way Loki’s eyes caught the light, “but accidentally cast a love spell on Loki. He assisted in righting my wrongs, in the process opening my eyes to the fact that my one true love had been by my side all this time. What a dear creature your son is, Allmother! Loving him is my truest—”

“Avoidance spell?” Frigga interrupted. “And a counter-spell?” She shook her head, drawing Sif’s attention away from Loki. The amusement in the Allmother’s eyes belied her disapproving frown. “Loki, dear, you should have been able to counter this with your eyes closed, yet I see that instead you wrote an entirely new spell meant to entrap Sif.”

“Brilliant bit of magic,” Sif sighed happily, looking back at Loki. 

“She was leaving me alone in my misery, Mother,” Loki said earnestly. “She needed her eyes opened to the truth.”

“And now they are opened, and I’ll be grateful for eternity,” Sif gushed, wishing Frigga’s magical barrier wasn’t keeping her from touching Loki. How she ached to hold him in her arms!

“Oh, children,” Frigga sighed, briefly moving out of sight. Sif continued staring at Loki, yearning for his touch. He returned her looks, heat smouldering in his eyes. 

Sudden gooseflesh appeared on Sif’s arm, accompanying the sensation of humidity in midsummer. All at once the wall of magic dropped, and Sif’s head cleared. Her adoring gaze slid into one of wide-eyed horror as she stared at the younger prince, appalled at her own behaviour. Loki’s expression mirrored hers. “Sif, dear, need I remind you you failed magical runes?” Frigga asked, coming to stand between the two. “You ought not to mess with it.”

“I just wanted to avoid the pain of the past decade,” Sif said, tears filling her eyes. 

“And you, my son,” Frigga said, turning slightly to face Loki, “to take advantage of her ignorance is beneath you.”

“In my defence, the spell made me do it,” Loki said, the horror in his voice failing to make him sound apologetic. 

“This does explain the many rumours these past few days that have reached my ears,” Frigga continued, and a new horror filled Sif. Not only had the entire palace witnessed the debacle she and Loki had made these past few days, but they had witnessed the head librarian dragging herself and Loki to Frigga like misbehaving children, clearly in the throes of passion. 

“If you’ll excuse me, I need to bury my head in my blankets and possibly die there,” Sif said, nearly overcome with mortification. Frigga waved her out, and Sif did not even pretend an dignified exit, instead running with all due speed.

Back in her own bed, Sif buried herself beneath her blankets and tried her best to not die of humiliation.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My entry for Haunted.

As Sif made her hurried escape, Loki hunched over and buried his head in his arms. The last few days flashed through his mind, and his stomach dropped. 

_“You have bewitched me, body and soul, my lady.”_

_“But one should appreciate exquisite art when one is graced with its presence.”_

_“I give you full permission to take advantage of me.”_

_“Beloved, with body divine, our hearts meant to beat as one.”_

Loki was not embarrassed at spouting such platitudes, for despite the spell, he had meant every word he spoke to Sif. No, he was mortified at how emphatically she had rejected his love.

He knew she did not feel for him as he felt for her—she was still reeling from Haldor, after all, deny it though she would. With her mind so occupied, it was foolish to hope she’d consider another lover, let alone him, though he’d hoped that his place as her friend would have made the thought of his advances less repugnant. Apparently not. 

He used to think not knowing how she felt was worse than rejection, but now that he’d been so thoroughly rejected, he wished he could return to being uncertain. It hurt far less.

Mother sat next to him, her hand coming to rest lightly on Loki’s back. “My son,” she said, voice full of compassion. 

“I do not wish to speak of it,” Loki told her.

“Of course you don’t,” she said. “You’ve never liked sharing the contents of your heart. But know, my son, how ardently I care for you.”

Yes, at least he had Mummy’s love, and he was confident he was her favourite, even if she would never say so. It did little to soothe his hurt feelings, but it did make him feel a wee bit better. 

“Did you see how quickly she exited?” Loki said, turning his face just enough so he could see his mother. 

“She is far more upset at her actions than yours,” Mother said. 

Loki huffed. “Yes, because there is nothing more shameful than kissing the silver tongued trickster second prince.”

“Except perhaps being caught by Ingunn.”

Loki offered his mother a tired smile. “Except that,” he said with feigned levity.

Mother’s gentle fingers traced soothing patterns on Loki’s back, helping to relieve some of the tension held there. He exhaled, trying to pretend he was fine. Sif’s rejection mattered little, for she did not reject him, but him on a love spell.

Now if only he could convince himself.

“Tell me truly,” Mother said. “Did you maintain your faculties when you penned the second love spell?”

He raised an eyebrow at her. “Do you really think so little of me that I would intentionally spell Sif into loving me?”

“No,” she said, “but there is power in spoken words, as you well know.”

Loki shook his head. “I did not, Mother. I was fully under the spell and intended only to keep her there with me.”

That wasn’t to say he hadn’t given thought in the past of putting Sif under a spell, for with his skill, it was a surefire way to ensure her love. However, he never did more than think it, for what good was love if it was not freely given? He might enjoy the physical benefits of it, but it would tear at his own heart knowing she did not do it by choice. 

Much like the past few days. Every touch, every kiss, every caress had been given under duress as a means of making him behave. It all meant nothing. 

“‘Tis a pity you had to be so public about your love,” Mother said, “for now the entire palace, and possibly the whole Realm, know. Though perhaps such a public affair will help you both overcome your romantic slumps, for she has loved no one since Haldor, and you no one since Sigyn.”

“You need a different hobby than keeping track of your sons’ romantic entanglements.”

“I can multitask,” Mother said, gently bopping his nose. “And only yours, my dear. To keep track of Thor’s affairs would require a herd of scribes.” They shared a small laugh. “Now, my son, return to your rooms and mope a bit. When you feel better and are ready to face the world again, return to me. I’ve an idea about how to help your heart.”

Loki bid his mother farewell and left with no intention of letting her help his heart. The last thing he wanted was to be set up with an eligible young maiden. 

* * *

Loki followed his mother’s counsel and moped in his room for an hour, then removed himself to the training yards. He did not wish to endure being a public spectacle, but even less did he wish any to think him embarrassed (though he was. Deeply). If he embraced an air of levity, perhaps all would think his affair a bright torch that burned hot and quick and then went out. He could wear the facade of Fandral with ease.

He could.

He did not search out sparring partners, but selected a set of dull knives and practiced throwing them with pinpoint accuracy. A sharp blade was preferred, certainly, but one could not predict what sort of weapon would be at hand when an attack occurred, and it paid to be proficient regardless of what one threw. It took two throws to gauge the force he needed for these inadequate weapons, hearing the unsatisfying thunk of steel smacking into the dummy and falling uselessly to the grass. On the third throw, Loki’s knife landed in the middle of the enemy’s forehead. With practiced ease, he landed the remainder of his knives in a line down the dummy’s face, ending just below where the collar bone should be.

Retrieving his knives, he repeated the actions until it was so rote his mind need not be engaged. He briefly imagined his opponent to be Sif, but as his knife struck true, he pictured blood streaming down her face at his hands. He frowned, his next blade landing slightly to the left. Banishing her image, he instead pictured his magical runes instructor. _Thunk thunk thunk._ Much more satisfying. 

That ridiculous spell.

_Thunk._

Her poor choice of wording.

_Thunk._

His rewritten masterpiece.

_Thunk._

A masterpiece of garbage.

_Thunk thunk._

He growled. Their days studying in the library had ruined it as a refuge for him. Now when he wanted an obscure text, he’d have to trust a _librarian_ to secure it for him. He sneered; even if the puling weakling could locate the precise text he wanted, he had no doubt Ingunn would find some way to make Loki’s life miserable, either by suspiciously misplacing the information he wanted or suddenly having an emergency that required every hand to be occupied. 

_Thunk. Thunk._

Fandral and his ridiculous manacles. 

_Thunk thunk thunk thunk thunk thunk._

Loki dropped his head. He’d willingly allowed Sif to bind him and parade him around. Bad enough to leave himself to her unwilling mercy (he certainly did not think about how if she had been willing he would have enjoyed it), but there were witnesses, too many to kill without levelling the palace, tempting though it was. 

He remembered every stupid thing he had said to her, and every stinging rejection she returned. 

( _Not all rejections_ , his traitorous mind taunted him with memories of her lips on his and her hands in his hair. He banished the thought. All a means of keeping him subdued, nothing more.)

That was that, then. He could never speak to her again. Mentally he removed her name from his already too short list of friends. Wonderful. That left him with Thor and the Warriors Three. 

Retrieving the knives, he returned them to the armoury, then went to drown himself in his bath. 

* * *

He ordered dinner to his rooms, refusing to grace the palace with his presence for the remainder of the day. It was not until the following morning that he ventured forth, determined to do something. Anything would do, so long as it put him in the public eye. He would not be seen moping about, but enjoying his life as if his supposed breakup was nothing but a trifle. 

He briefly considered smiling as means of displaying just how carefree he was, but as he was better known for scowling as he prowled about, he thought the smile might be considered suspicious. 

Most of his preferred activities were performed in solitude, so he had to forego things he was actually interested in order to be seen. Horseback riding sounded acceptable, so he meandered down to the stables, taking the long route to ensure more people witnessed him out and about. 

His hands felt restless, as if he had forgotten something important. He had intentionally left everything behind or strapped it to a hip or leg, so Loki was unsure what his brain was telling him he was missing. That was unsettling; he hoped Sif’s spell did not have any lingering effects that interfered with his mind. 

At the stables he tapped his foot impatiently as he waited for Gorm to saddle his horse. Had it always taken this long, or was Gorm being particularly pokey today? Loki growled to himself; he should have saddled his own beast. 

At last the old stablehand emerged from the horse’s stall, leading the beast toward Loki. He quickly mounted and headed for the exit, only to draw up short as Sif was suddenly in his way. 

“Beg pardon,” she muttered, slipping to the side and purposefully not looking at Loki. He stiffened at her words, tightening his grip on the reins as his heart raced. Kicking his horse into a trot, he exited the stables and the city as quickly as he could. 

At the sound of her voice, he knew precisely what his hands were missing: hers.

* * *

It seemed to Loki as if Sif were suddenly everywhere he wanted to be, whether that was the stables, the great hall, or meandering the corridors, and every time he saw her, he reflexively clenched his fists against the insane desire to clasp her hands in his. He’d always been attracted to her, yes, and often dreamt of touching her, but never before had his body betrayed him so thoroughly. Damn that ridiculous spell of hers. 

It did not help that every time her eyes landed on him, she about-faced and scurried away. It only served to deepen the longing he felt.

After three days of physical longing, Loki decided he was through with this ridiculousness. If his desperate need to touch her was a result of runic magic, then he’d simply pen a spell to put a stop to it. Unlike Sif, he was a master of the craft and knew he could word it properly so there wouldn’t be any undesirable side effects. 

Of course, master of runic magic though he was, he didn’t have every rune memorized and needed some reference material from the library. Finding himself in front of the library’s great doors, Loki took several reinforcing breaths. He was the prince of the Realm; he had nothing to fear from a doddering old librarian.

And yet, he could not quite convince himself to enter. 

I am no adolescent incapable of controlling myself, he thought, annoyed, though that was more or less exactly what he’d been acting like last time he set foot in here. He was Loki of Asgard, prince of the Realm, second in line for the throne. Rolling back his shoulders and puffing out his chest, he gathered his confidence and threw open the doors, striding past Ingunn’s desk.

“We’re closed!” the old lady barked. 

“The library is never closed,” Loki said as he moved forward, only to run into a sparkling barrier. He glared at Ingunn. 

“Book fire,” she intoned. “We’re out of commission. Could be decades before it’s cleaned.”

“There is no smoke nor stench of fire,” he said.

“You must have a cold inhibiting your nose,” she replied. 

“I am the picture of health.”

“No prince of the Realm will be burnt to death in my library,” Ingunn said. “Do leave before I have to inform their majesties of your untimely demise.”

Several scholarly waifs—all three of them—materialized from the library’s vast shelves, all crossing their arms and giving Loki pointed nasty looks. He shifted slightly, feeling the blades hidden in his sleeves. He could take them.

He imagined that conversation with his parents. _A true tragedy, Mother. My hands slipped and suddenly the entirety of our librarian force fell onto blades miraculously looking like mine._ He could imagine the punishment he would receive for that infraction. With a sigh, Loki pivoted on the ball of his foot, cloak flaring out behind him. He shot Ingunn a nasty sneer, and she stuck her tongue out at him.

He nearly bowled over Sif and Fandral as he stormed out of the library. Reaching out a hand to steady Sif, his hand veritably sighed in contentment as it grasped her shoulder. Yanking his hand back, he scuttled away, dignity be damned. 

He needed access to that library. Conventional entrance hadn’t worked, so it was time to employ more nefarious methods of entrance.

* * *

Heimdall thought he controlled the only road into Asgard, but that was because he lacked imagination. Loki blamed it on the fact that the man was blind; it was difficult to see when you couldn’t. He was grateful for it, however, for Loki had been inspired by the man’s blind spot and created several pathways into and out of Asgard that were outside of Heimdall’s line of sight.

Tapping into one of those pathways now, Loki adjusted the endpoint, tacking it onto the magical runes section of the library. Stepping through his portal, he opened the other end—

—and fell through the library into a pit of fire. With a mad scramble, Loki threw open another portal and found himself inside of Fandral’s apartments, smoke curling around his head.

“Yes, that’s fire,” Fandral said, nodding his head at Loki while his eyes strayed to Sif. Loki clenched his fist against the sudden need to touch her. Why were those two always together?

“What asinine thing are you saying now?” Loki demanded, standing up and brushing stray ash off his shoulders.

“I’m a fire distinguisher,” Fandral said, then grinned. Loki almost smiled, but scowled instead when Sif laughed.

Loki strode to the door. He had a librarian to see. 

“Why are you on fire?” Sif’s voice followed him out the door. 

Noticing a flame at the corner of his cloak, Loki flicked his fingers, suffocating the flame. “Because I’m smoking hot,” he called, not willing to return and see her response. 

Ingunn met him at the library’s door, arms crossed as she stared imperiously down her nose. Loki growled, “The hell was that?”

“Precautionary measures,” she said, eyeing him up and down. “The library is warded against nefarious intent.”

Loki clenched his jaw. She had warded the library against him? “Information here is free to all,” he reminded her shortly.

“Information is free to all who respect it,” she corrected.

“I respect knowledge!” Loki barked. “I’m the only one in this damn place who does! If keeping the library open was dependent upon the benevolence of the crown, I’d be the only one lobbying to keep it open. The entire rest of my family would sooner see another armoury than open a scroll!”

Both of Ingunn’s eyebrows disappeared into her hairline. “You disrespect your mother,” she said harshly.

“And the last time she was here?” Loki demanded. “That’s right, she doesn’t come around anymore, for she stocked up her personal library with the few texts she doesn’t have memorized. I’m the only one craving new knowledge, and you would keep me out! Let me in, or I’ll convince Thor it’s a waste of space!”

Unimpressed with his threat, Ingunn leveled him a look. “The Lady Sif is always welcome here,” she said primly. Loki tried not to gape. 

“She and I committed the same sin!” he cried. “Why am I being punished?”

“Because she is not half the idiot you are,” Ingunn said primly, then retreated inside the library. Loki lobbed a fireball at the doors, but found his meager attack returned twofold. He dove out of the way, but not before his cloak once again caught fire. Releasing the clasp, he watched the garment be eaten by the flames. 

Now how was he supposed to rid himself of his need to touch Sif? Muttering angrily, he stormed back to his rooms.

* * *

Loki couldn’t even find respite in the training yards. If Sif was there (which she often was), after a shared uncomfortable look he about-faced and found something else to occupy his time. The two times he found her presence blessedly absent, she would inevitably show up with her cronies, flex her hands, and make some lame excuse to disappear before he could do more than blink. Fandral gave Loki some interesting looks, but no one else seemed to notice. It made Loki uncomfortable enough that he stopped going.

Alone in his rooms, Loki drafted seven different spells to curb his need to touch Sif, but he couldn’t remember which directional markers he needed to make the rune remove his desire instead of increasing it. Five minutes in the library would solve his dilemma, but Ingunn was fastidious in her desire to keep him out. 

He’d hoped that time might lessen his need to be in constant contact with Sif, but as weeks turned into months, her constant absence and the corresponding hole in his contentment put that theory to rest. His body missed her. What a wretched spell she’d crafted that had such long lasting effects on him! If he were speaking to her, he’d give her quite the tongue-lashing for messing with magics beyond her skill. 

Avoiding her also meant avoiding the Three, forcing Loki to face the fact that he didn’t have his own friends. How irritating, realizing he relied on Thor’s cronies for companionship. 

Worse, as he analyzed the remainder of Asgard’s populace for new friends, was realizing he wasn’t interested in anyone who wasn’t Sif. 

He found his mother in the gardens, trailing her fingers along the roses there. Tiny sparkles fell from her hands, and the flowers brightened beneath her gentle touch, reaching for the sun with renewed life. Tending plant life had never been a strength of Loki’s, and it amazed him how deftly Mother performed such a seemingly small act.

“I’m ready,” he told her, matching his stride to her leisurely pace.

“For what, dearest?” Mother asked, reaching out to lightly touch his cheek. Loki felt like one of her roses, suddenly imbued with new life. He puffed out his chest.

“You said you could heal my heart.”

Mother smiled, her eyes drifting back to her roses. “You give me far too much credit, my son. I said I had an idea.”

“Share it,” Loki said, wondering which fair maid she had in mind to distract him.

When she did not immediately speak, Loki wrapped his hand around her upper arm, halting her. “Mother.”

“Son,” she replied, seemingly unperturbed. 

Mother never did anything without purpose. Frowning, Loki tried to see her game. “What am I missing?” he asked. She smiled lightly. “Besides the obvious.”

“And what is the obvious?”

Loki frowned. “Sif.”

“Mm,” she said, moving forward again, though her hand no longer stroked the roses. 

Loki’s frown deepened. “You disagree.”

“Do I?”

“If you agreed, you would have smiled. But I am correct, Mother; I am quite literally missing Sif. My body still reels from her spell, searching out her presence and wishing to touch that which so briefly gave me life.”

One of her elegant hands reached out to lightly touch his sleeve. “I know it has been some time, but tell me, Loki, do you remember how Sif worded her spell?”

The runes flashed across his mind where they were deeply embedded. He wished he could forget what she wrote, but he imagined if he survived to old age and lost his mind, he would still remember. “Yes,” he said shortly.

“Do you truly?” Mother pressed. 

Rather flatly, after invoking the cancellation rune to negate the magic, Loki recited the spell verbatim, then scowled at his mother’s smile. “What?” he snapped irritably. 

“ ‘The object of affection,’ " Mother quoted from the spell. “Tell me, son: who did Sif think that was?”

He almost snapped, “ _I don’t know_ ,” but stilled his tongue before the first sound left his throat. 

Who, indeed. 

Sif had never said his name or penned any directional rune to indicate him.

He grunted in surprise.

“Curious,” Mother said. “If you’ll excuse me, your father is expecting me.”

Loki did not notice as his mother exited gracefully, stuck as he was in his own thoughts. For a spell to be so general yet land on him so specifically meant it was guided by the thoughts and intentions of the caster. Yet that was impossible, for Sif had never indicated any favour towards him. 

Or so he would have said three minutes ago.

Though she hadn’t intended the spell’s outcome and had been fair annoyed at his persistent attentions, she’d allowed him to touch her, allowed him to kiss her—even seemed, at moments, to welcome it.

Perhaps the Lady Sif was not so indifferent after all.

Loki shook his head, dispelling the wave of hope before it fully overtook him. Even if Sif wasn’t wholly opposed to him, he’d barely seen her since the termination of their spells. Though Loki had put forth great effort to avoid her, if she’d truly wanted to see him, she would have found a way. She had not attempted to find him, nor had she sent any messages via their friends. Whatever minuscule amount of affection she may have held for him, it had undoubtedly evaporated in the face of her humiliation. 

Still. It eased Loki’s own hurt to know he was not undesirable to her. It opened the gate for a tiny bit of hope to squeeze through. Not now, certainly, as Sif seemed as keen on avoiding him as he was on avoiding her. But one day, perhaps, she might allow a tendril of affection for him to grow and they could be something more. 

Satisfied, Loki decided to end his self-imposed exile and left to find his friends.

* * *

He found Fandral and immediately regretted it. 

Fandral was standing before a closet down one of the servants' corridors, and grinned upon spotting Loki. “We’re investigating a strange sound we heard in the closet,” he said from where he stood before the closet's open door. Noises from inside indicated someone was within. “Most unusual for inside the palace. Come, help!” And with the grace of a child struggling to hold his first sword, Fandral tripped Loki and shoved him inside the closet. Loki landed on something female. It took him two seconds to register Sif’s familiar scent, and in those two seconds Fandral closed and bolted the door from the outside.

“Get off me,” Sif growled, shoving Loki in his attempts to rise, which threw him off balance and back on top of her. 

“I would be more successful if you did not offer help,” he said irritably. “Did that buffoon seriously just lock us in a broom closet?”

“Yes!” Fandral’s muffled voice said cheerfully. “Magicked it, too, so you’re stuck until you two talk to each other and get over whatever is bothering the pair of you.”

As he stood, Loki reached out with his seidr to investigate Fandral’s claims, and sure enough, the door was spelled closed. However, it was a child’s spell, and Loki could break through it with a flick of his finger.

If he wanted to, that is, but he recognized this opportunity for what it was. “It has been spelled closed,” he said truthfully. Sif growled, scrambling for the door.

“Fandral, you son of a bilgesnipe! You did this on purpose!” she shouted, banging a fist against the door. 

“Half true,” Fandral said. “I certainly did this, and it was on purpose, but it was unplanned. Loki walking down the corridor at that exact moment was a stroke of pure luck—I simply took advantage of the situation. Now kiss and make up. I miss seeing his surly face around.” Sif growled a string of unintelligible sounds, which only made Fandral laugh. “I know you miss him, too,” he said, “and he misses you just as much. You should see the pair of you walking around, looking wan and clenching fists with the saddest expressions on your faces. Apologize, end your fight, and return to jumping each other’s bones every time you see each other. I’m tired of mopey Sif.”

“I’m not moping!” Sif shouted, but there was no response. It sounded as if Fandral had left them alone.

Loki placed one hand on her shoulder, and his whole body felt like it had come home. He still needed to fix that stupid spell. Maybe if he made nice with Sif, she could get him the tome he needed. “Why does Ingunn let you in the library?”

“What?” she asked, turning toward him. It was dark in the closet, only a sliver of light entering from the crack between the floor and the door, but the darkness did nothing to diminish how beautiful he found Sif. 

“The library,” he said, ignoring his attraction to her. He dropped his hand. “Ingunn said you’re allowed in, but I’ve been warded out. Why?”

Sif shrugged, moving to put space between them, which meant instead of being a hand’s width apart, they were an arm’s length apart. There was nowhere else to go; the closet wasn’t very large. “I apologized,” she said. “Let her know we did not mean the destruction we were causing, swore it would never happen again, and offered her three days of free labour in exchange for any damage.”

Loki stared. Apologized? _That_ was all it would take? He’d never apologized to an underling in his life! 

“I see,” he said, wondering if there was something else he could do that would feel like an apology without actually being one. 

A problem for another day. He had more pressing concerns. 

“What did Fandral mean about looking wan and clenching your fist?” he asked. 

“Am I supposed to understand that man’s delusions?” 

“Why not? The tenacity with which you cling to his side indicates you are intimately acquainted with his brain.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” she asked coldly.

“I didn’t hear an answer,” Loki said, refusing to be deterred. 

In the faint light, he could barely make out Sif tossing her arms in exasperation. “I have no idea. Fandral’s mind works on a separate wavelength. He has fluffy manacles in every colour of the rainbow; I’m not certain I want to know what he means.”

Loki raised a brow she could not see. “I seem to recall you being grateful for those cuffs.”

“Only as a means of keeping you contained.”

And thank goodness for that, for Loki did not want to think of what he would have done unrestrained under the influence of her love spell. “All the same, perhaps we owe him our gratitude.”

“Feel free to express it,” she said. “Now be useful and magic us out of here.”

“How?” he asked, feigning innocent curiosity. “With the door so thoroughly spelled, I fear we are stuck here until our erstwhile friend sees fit to release us.”

Sif snorted. “The mighty Loki pretending he cannot outsmart a lowly warrior? I don’t believe you for once second.”

“Oh, I greatly outsmart that unintelligent child, but he seems to have prepared for this moment for some time. Even an inexperienced dolt can make wicked use of magic if they focus hard enough.” He paused a moment, then added, “Or are desperate enough.”

“I wasn’t desperate,” Sif said sharply. Loki adopted his best innocent expression (wasted, really, since Sif couldn’t see his beautiful face) and waited. “...Fine, I _was_ desperate, but not so desperate as to intentionally cast a love spell. Surely you know that was accidental.”

“Oh, I know. I read your spell.”

She growled something at him, and he grinned, tucking his hands beneath his armpits. His body was fighting desperately to reach out and caress her lovely hair or stroke her tempting skin. Her anger seemed to provoke his body’s reactions. 

“Sad though my spell was, yours was far more pathetic,” she said. “Spelling me to love you in return? Really? Did you honestly think that would work?”

“It did work, and splendidly.”

He wished he could see her blush, for he was sure it was magnificent. 

A small clattering sound made both of them jump. “Watch your footing,” they said to each other. Loki smiled. It was small and fleeting, but this was the camaraderie he’d missed with her. 

“I miss you,” he said abruptly. “Avoiding you for months has left me bereft of the company of friends.”

“Do you miss me, or do you miss invading my bed whilst I sleep?”

“We’ve been friends centuries longer than we were under a love spell. I think you know the answer.”

She was silent a moment, then sighed deeply. “I miss you as well,” she said. “Fandral’s overt humour isn’t subtle in the slightest, and I find myself longing for your cutting wit, especially when it was shared just between the two of us and the others didn’t notice. Thor is jolly, but we don’t share smug looks and hidden smiles.”

That was more than he’d expected; his shoulders relaxed, dropping a tension he hadn’t realized he was carrying. Perhaps enough time had passed that they could forget the whole love spell mishap (it would take another decade or so before it could become a fond memory; he was still too embarrassed over much of what happened). “Friends?” he asked, offering her a hand she probably couldn’t see.

“Friends,” she replied, her smaller hand groping in the dark until it found and clasped his. His whole body thrilled at the contact.

Their hands lingered, and Loki felt a familiar heat creeping up from the point of contact. Love spell or no, he found this woman devastatingly attractive, and now that he’d had a taste of the forbidden fruit, he was increasingly loath to leave her touch.

But leave he must, lest he forget himself and give into desire she wasn’t yet ready to reciprocate. Flexing his hand, Loki made to pull away—

—and instead was yanked forward until his lips smashed into hers. 

He definitely hadn’t initiated this one. 

It was short and it was messy, so much less than the glorious kisses they’d shared during their afternoon together in the library, yet infinitely superior for there was no love spell forcing it into existence. 

Sif drew back first, her gaze so intense Loki felt he could see it with startlingly clarity in the minuscule light. “I miss you in more ways than one,” she said breathlessly. “I know it was my mangled spell that brought us together in the first place, but your constant presence and affection awoke something in me I did not realize I felt. These past few months without you have felt dull and grey, and if there is even the tiniest bit of you that could feel the same way, I think we could have something marvelous.”

Loki’s smile slowly unfurled as he stared down at this glorious woman. It was perfect timing, and he wondered if the Norns were responsible for her confession coming now. Had this happened earlier in the day, before his eyes were opened to the implications of her spell coming to rest on him, he would have doubted her sincerity, perhaps accused her and Fandral of orchestrating a grand joke, the likes of which would surely make their friends laugh but which would have devastated Loki. Now, however, he did not doubt her sincerity, pleased with his good fortune for he had imagined it would take several decades more for her to realize her blossoming feelings. 

Perhaps that spell of hers had been useful after all.

He brought forth a hand to gently trace the side of her face. “Jumping the arrow a bit, aren’t you?” he said, kissing the tip of her nose. “We’ve only just agreed to renew our friendship.”

She brought herself closer so their lips nearly met. “I think you want this as much as I do,” she murmured, her voicing shooting thrills of delight down his back. “I think my spell amplified what you already felt.”

Brushing his lips over hers, Loki whispered back, “Whatever gave you that idea?”

“Things you said while under the spell, such as your feelings being centuries in the making, combined with Fandral’s casual observance that it was a long time coming. Also combined with Fandral’s more recent constant needling about me looking for you even when you were nowhere nearby. And the fact that you were avoiding me as heartily as I was avoiding you. If you felt nothing, your embarrassment would have dissipated days later, not lingered. Or so I hoped.”

He kissed her this time, both hands coming up to tangle in her hair as his lips slanted over hers. One of her hands pressed against his heart, the other wrapped in his collar, keeping him in place. Bliss. “I was not embarrassed over my actions,” he told her, nipping at her mouth, “but embarrassed at your rejection. I did not want you to know I cared.”

“And I was embarrassed at my disappointment over your absence. My spell wasn’t supposed to bring me to a new lover, and I didn’t want to admit how much I enjoyed our afternoons in the library.”

“I thought I was a miserable nuisance,” Loki huffed.

“Enjoyable nuisance,” she said, “but still a nuisance.”

And Sif kissed him again, this time tangling her hands in his hair, pressing closer. Wrapping his arms around her, Loki pulled her flush against him, opening his mouth to deepen the kiss. He enjoyed her hum of approval.

She broke the kiss with a smile. “What?” Loki asked, tracing shapes on her back.

“My toes curled,” she whispered. “You promised, but I did not think you could deliver.”

Smirking, he lowered his head again to hers to show her just how long he could curl her toes, but they were interrupted by a crash and a series of whimpering noises. “There really is something in here,” Sif said in surprise, pulling back to investigate the noise. “Give me light, please.” 

Loki crafted a brightly glowing orb and attached it to the wall to illuminate the closet. Rooting through the piles of brooms and mops and other cleaning implements Loki had no need to know the names of, Sif disappeared under the debris. She gave a muffled shout and something furry shot forward, running into Loki’s legs. He grabbed the creature, hauling it up to eye level. 

“A puppy,” he said. The mongrel did not seem distressed. Indeed, it seemed happy to have found a companion, leaning forward to lick Loki from jaw to hairline. “Disgusting,” he said, holding the mongrel toward Sif as she emerged from the cleaning supplies. “This is yours.”

“Oh, sweet boy,” Sif cooed at the puppy, laughing as it licked her. “How did you get stuck in here?” She rubbed the beast between the ears, and the dog lolled its head to the side, tongue sticking out in pleasure. Jealousy flared in Loki, and he glared at the offending beast. “He looks young,” Sif commented to Loki. “He might not have a home. You should adopt him.”

Loki pulled his lips back in a sneer. He had no use for a beast that would piss on his scrolls and books. “If he has no owner, dump him with Volstagg. It will keep his brood occupied.”

“Volstagg would feed you well,” Sif cooed, adjusting the dog so she could give it a belly rub. Loki wouldn’t mind getting one of those from Sif. “Of course, Fandral has to let us out of here first.”

“I can take care of that,” Loki said, opening the door with a flick of his fingers. Sif glared at him.

“I thought it was spelled shut.”

“It was,” Loki said, the grinned at her.

She rolled her eyes and called him something unpleasant. His grin grew.

Fandral poked his head in, surveying the damage. He looked disappointed. “I was expecting carnage,” he said, then pointed at the dog. “But I see your time together was not in vain; you produced a child. Bit furry, but I’m sure the Allmother will welcome any grandchild.”

Thrusting the pup at Loki—who barely caught it—Sif shouted a war cry and pounced on Fandral. Loki watched in amusement as they scuffled. Extinguishing his light, he exited and closed the closet door, setting the pup on the floor. Clearly having no regard for its own life, it jumped into the middle of Sif and Fandral’s fight, and suddenly the two were shouting about interfering slobber and fur. Loki shook his head, a tiny smile lifting the corners of his mouth.

* * *

In the end, Volstagg was correct, and Thor did not notice Sif and Loki hanging off each other until Fandral grabbed the man by his beard and nearly thrust him into Loki’s lap. Hogun clucked his tongue in disapproving amusement. Loki had a smug moment over stealing the woman everyone thought intended for Thor, but Thor’s enthusiasm was so genuine Loki wondered if Thor knew he was supposed to be the one to catch Sif. 

“When did this happen?” Thor boomed, slinging his left arm around Loki and his right around Sif. 

“Starting date is negotiable,” Loki said. “Some say it happened three weeks ago in a closet. Others say it began months ago during a quiet afternoon in the library.”

“And some of us say it started decades ago,” Fandral said. “Though _when_ hardly matters; I’m just glad to have Loki returned to us.”

“Was he missing?” Thor asked. 

“For months,” Fandral said. 

“So glad you noticed,” Loki added. 

“There was a mishap with a love spell,” Sif said.

Thor cuffed the side of Loki’s head. “Love spell? Really?”

Rubbing his head, Loki cast an annoyed look at his brother. “It wasn’t mine.”

Thor rolled his head slowly toward Sif, eyes blown wide with surprise. He pointed a finger at Sif. “ _You_ cast a love spell on Loki?”

“I didn’t cast it on anyone,” Sif said, lacing her fingers with Loki’s. 

“Making it all the more impressive that it landed on me,” Loki said, lifting her hand to his lips for a lingering kiss. “Turns out she’s been lusting after me for a while.”

Rolling her eyes, Sif yanked her hand back and punched Loki in the shoulder. He grinned saucily at her. “He exaggerates,” she said. “I tolerated him at best, maybe appreciated his _ass_ ets now and again. Sheer dumb luck my spell affected him.” Then she redirected the conversation towards Thor's most recent conquest, which he enthusiastically began describing.

Loki ignored Thor’s words and scooted closer to Sif, burying his nose in her hair. Contentment settled over him. He could hardly believe his good luck in procuring her affections, and with her in his life, he now had everything he wanted.

Well, almost. There was still the matter of a certain librarian keeping him from the ancient texts, but he had plans for that. Nefarious, devious plans starring unaware Sif as a distraction, which would guarantee success but undoubtedly provoke a fight between them. Worth it, however, for he’d have access to his coveted knowledge once more. And making up would be so sweet.

With a smile, he dropped a kiss into her hair.

**Author's Note:**

> Poem Loki recited was [Song: to Celia [“Drink to me only with thine eyes”]](https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/44464/song-to-celia-drink-to-me-only-with-thine-eyes) by Ben Jonson.
> 
> Chapter 2 will be up tomorrow.


End file.
